The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 19, No. 536, March 3, 1832

Towards the end of July, 1831, Mr. Nasmyth, accompanied by two of his intimate acquaintances, made an excursion to Norwood for the purpose of sketching. Much rain had fallen the day before, and the air was still chilly; the artist, however, commenced his drawing, and remained stationary for about two hours, when, the sketch being finished, he rejoined the friends whom he had left at an inn. He then complained of being excessively cold, but on taking something warm his usual spirits returned, and the party passed the rest of the day pleasantly. On the following morning, however, Nasmyth felt considerably indisposed, and it appeared evident he had taken a violent cold. Notwithstanding medical assistance, his indisposition daily increased; and on the 18th of August he breathed his last, in the 46th year of his age.

He died in extreme poverty, and a subscription to defray the expenses of the funeral was raised among his friends. Wilson, Stanfield, and Roberts subscribed, and followed the remains of their late talented friend to the grave in St. Mary's churchyard, Lambeth.

G.W.N

PORTRAIT OF CHRIST

(To the Editor.)

The document giving an account of Jesus Christ, which is referred to by Veritas, in No. 533 of The Mirror, has been long since known to be a glaring forgery. It is one of many stories invented in the second, third, and fourth centuries, by the early Christians; for a full account of whose forgeries in such matters, you may consult Mosheim, Lardner, Casaubon, and other ecclesiastical writers. The latter says, "It mightily affects me to see how many there were in the earliest times of the church, who considered it as a capital exploit to lend to heavenly truth the help of their own inventions, in order that the new doctrine might be more readily allowed by the wise among the Gentiles. These officious lies, they were wont to say, were devised for a good end. From which source, beyond question, sprung nearly innumerable books, which that and the following ages saw published by those who were far from being bad men, under the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Apostles, and of other Saints."—Lardner, vol. iv. p. 524.

Dr. Mosheim, among his excellent works, has published a dissertation, showing the reasons and causes of these supposed letters and writings respecting Christ, the Apostles, &c., to which I would beg to recommend your correspondent Veritas. JUSTUS.

Notes of a Reader

DEATH OF JOHN HAMPDEN

The last days of the patriot Hampden are thus graphically told in the Edinburgh Review of Lord Nugent's recently published "Memorials." We need scarcely observe, by way of introduction, that Hampden fell in the great contest between Charles and his parliament; and that when the appeal was to the sword, Hampden accepted the command of a regiment in the parliamentary army, under the Earl of Essex; the Royal forces being headed by Prince Rupert.

"In the early part of 1643, the shires lying in the neighbourhood of London, which were devoted to the cause of the Parliament, were incessantly annoyed by Rupert and his cavalry. Essex had extended his lines so far, that almost every point was vulnerable. The young prince, who, though not a great general, was an active and enterprising partisan, frequently surprised posts, burned villages, swept away cattle, and was again at Oxford, before a force sufficient to encounter him could be assembled.

"The languid proceedings of Essex were loudly condemned by the troops. All the ardent and daring spirits in the parliamentary party were eager to have Hampden at their head. Had his life been prolonged, there is every reason to believe that the supreme command would have been entrusted to him. But it was decreed that, at this conjuncture, England should lose the only man who united perfect disinterestedness to eminent talents—the only man who, being capable of gaining the victory for her, was incapable of abusing that victory when gained.

"In the evening of the 17th of June, Rupert darted out of Oxford with his cavalry on a predatory expedition. At three in the morning of the following day, he attacked and dispersed a few parliamentary soldiers who were quartered at Postcombe. He then flew to Chinnor, burned the village, killed or took all the troops who were posted there, and prepared to hurry back with his booty and his prisoners to Oxford.

"Hampden had, on the preceding day, strongly represented to Essex the danger to which this part of the line was exposed. As soon as he received intelligence of Rupert's incursion, he sent off a horseman with a message to the General. The cavaliers, he said, could return only by Chiselhampton Bridge. A force ought to be instantly dispatched in that direction, for the purpose of intercepting them. In the meantime, he resolved to set out with all the cavalry that he could muster, for the purpose of impeding the march of the enemy till Essex could take measures for cutting off their retreat. A considerable body of horse and dragoons volunteered to follow him. He was not their commander. He did not even belong to their branch of the service. But 'he was,' says Lord Clarendon, 'second to none but the General himself in the observance and application of all men.' On the field of Chalgrove he came up with Rupert. A fierce skirmish ensued. In the first charge, Hampden was struck in the shoulder by two bullets, which broke the bone, and lodged in his body. The troops of the Parliament lost heart and gave way. Rupert, after pursuing them for a short time, hastened to cross the bridge, and made his retreat unmolested to Oxford.

"Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion which had been inhabited by his father-in-law, and from which in his youth he had carried home his bride, Elizabeth, was in sight. There still remains an affecting tradition, that he looked for a moment towards that beloved house, and made an effort to go thither to die. But the enemy lay in that direction. He turned his horse towards Thame, where he arrived almost fainting with agony. The surgeons dressed his wounds. But there was no hope. The pain which he suffered was most excruciating. But he endured it with admirable firmness and resignation. His first care was for his country. He wrote from his bed several letters to London concerning public affairs, and sent a last pressing message to the head-quarters, recommending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated. When his last public duties were performed, he calmly prepared himself to die. He was attended by a clergyman of the Church of England, with whom he had lived in habits of intimacy, and by the chaplain of the Buckinghamshire Green-coats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as a famous and excellent divine.

"A short time before his death, the sacrament was administered to him. He declared that, though he disliked the government of the Church of England, he yet agreed with that Church as to all essential matters of doctrine. His intellect remained unclouded. When all was nearly over, he lay murmuring faint prayers for himself, and for the cause in which he died. 'Lord Jesus,' he exclaimed, in the moment of the last agony, 'receive my soul—O Lord, save my country—O Lord, be merciful to—,' In that broken ejaculation passed away his noble and fearless spirit.

"He was buried in the parish church of Hampden. His soldiers, bareheaded with reversed arms, and muffled drums, and colours, escorted his body to the grave, singing, as they marched, that lofty and melancholy psalm, in which the fragility of human life is contrasted with the immutability of Him, in whose sight a thousand years are but as yesterday when it is passed, and as a watch in the night.

"The news of Hampden's death produced as great a consternation in his party, according to Clarendon, as if their whole army had been cut off. The journals of the time amply prove that the Parliament and all its friends were filled with grief and dismay. Lord Nugent has quoted a remarkable passage from the next Weekly Intelligencer. 'The loss of Colonel Hampden goeth near the heart of every man that loves the good of his king and country, and makes some conceive little content to be at the army now that he is gone. The memory of this deceased colonel is such, that in no age to come but it will more and more be had in honour and esteem;—a man so religious, and of that prudence, judgment, temper, valour, and integrity, that he hath left few his like behind him,'

"He had indeed left none his like behind him. There still remained, indeed, in his party, many acute intellects, many eloquent tongues, many brave and honest hearts. There still remained a rugged and clownish soldier,—half-fanatic, half-buffoon,—whose talents discerned as yet only by one penetrating eye, were equal to all the highest duties of the soldier and the prince. But in Hampden, and in Hampden alone, were united all the qualities which, at such a crisis, were necessary to save the state,—the valour and energy of Cromwell, the discernment and eloquence of Vane, the humanity and moderation of Manchester, the stern integrity of Hale, the ardent public spirit of Sidney. Others might possess the qualities which were necessary to save the popular party in the crisis of danger; he alone had both the power and the inclination to restrain its excesses in the hour of triumph. Others could conquer; he alone could reconcile."

SNATCHES FROM EUGENE ARAM

Love.—What a beautiful fabric would be human nature—what a divine guide would be human reason—if Love were indeed the stratum of the one, and the inspiration of the other.

The Pathetic and Sublime.—What a world of reasonings, not immediately obvious, did the sage of old open to our inquiry, when he said that the pathetic was the truest source of the sublime.

Fortune-telling by Gipsies.—Very few men under thirty ever sincerely refuse an offer of this sort. Nobody believes in these predictions, yet every one likes hearing them.

Gardening.—'Tis a winning thing, a garden! It brings us an object every day; and that's what I think a man ought to have if he wishes to lead a happy life.

Knaresbro' Castle.—You would be at some loss to recognise now the truth of old Leland's description of that once stout and gallant bulwark of the north, when "he numbrid 11 or 12 toures in the walles of the Castel, and one very fayre beside in the second area." In that castle, the four knightly murderers of the haughty Becket (the Wolsey of his age) remained for a whole year, defying the weak justice of the times. There, too, the unfortunate Richard the Second,—the Stuart of the Plantagenets—passed some portion of his bitter imprisonment. And there, after the battle of Marston Moor, waved the banner of the loyalists against the soldiers of Lilburn. It was made yet more touchingly memorable at that time, as you may have heard, by an instance of filial piety. The town was straitened for want of provisions; a youth, whose father was in the garrison, was accustomed nightly to get into the deep, dry moat, climb up the glacis, and put provisions through a hole, where the father stood ready to receive them. He was perceived at length; the soldiers fired on him. He was taken prisoner, and sentenced to be hanged in sight of the besieged, in order to strike terror into those who might be similarly disposed to render assistance to the garrison. Fortunately, however, this disgrace was spared the memory of Lilburne and the republican arms. With great difficulty, a certain lady obtained his respite; and after the conquest of the place, and the departure of the troops, the adventurous son was released.... The castle then, once the residence of Pierce Gaveston,—of Hubert III,—and of John of Gaunt, was dismantled and destroyed. It is singular, by the way, that it was twice captured by men of the name of Lilburn, or Lilleburne, once in the reign of Edward II., once as I have related. On looking over historical records, we are surprised to find how often certain great names have been fatal to certain spots; and this reminds me that we boast (at Knaresbro',) the origin of the English Sibyl, the venerable Mother Shipton. The wild rock, at whose foot she is said to have been born, is worthy of the tradition.

Consolation for the Loss of Children.—Better that the light cloud should fade away into Heaven with the morning breath, than travail through the weary day to gather in darkness, and end in storm!

Bells before a Wedding.—The bells were already ringing loud and blithely; and the near vicinity of the church to the house brought that sound, so inexpressibly buoyant and cheering, to the ears of the bride, with a noisy merriment, that seemed like the hearty voice of an old-fashioned friend who seeks, in his greeting, rather cordiality than discretion.

The Murderer's Unction.—Ay, all is safe! He will not again return; the dead sleeps without a witness.—I may lay this working brain upon the bosom that loves me, and not start at night and think that the soft hand around my neck is the hangman's gripe.

Hogarth.—Nothing makes a picture of distress more sad than the portrait of some individual sitting indifferently looking on in the back-ground. This was a secret Hogarth knew well. Mark his death-bed scenes:—Poverty and Vice worked up into Horror—and the physicians in the corner wrangling for the fee!—or the child playing with the coffin—or the nurse filching what fortune, harsh, yet less harsh than humanity, might have left.

Change of Circumstance.—In our estimate of the ills of life, we never sufficiently take into consideration the wonderful elasticity of our moral frame, the unlooked for, the startling facility with which the human mind accommodates itself to all change of circumstance, making an object and even a joy from the hardest and seemingly the least redeemed conditions of fate. The man who watched the spider in his cell, may have taken, at least, as much interest in the watch, as when engaged in the most ardent and ambitious objects of his former life; and he was but a type of his brethren; all in similar circumstances would have found similar occupation.

Eternal Punishment.—So wonderful in equalizing all states and all times in the varying tide of life, are the two rulers yet levellers of mankind, Hope and Custom, that the very idea of an eternal punishment includes that of an utter alteration of the whole mechanism of the soul in its human state, and no effort of an imagination, assisted by past experience, can conceive a state of torture, which custom can never blunt, and from which the chainless and immaterial spirit can never be beguiled into even a momentary escape.

Prison Solitude.—I have been now so condemned to feed upon myself, that I have become surfeited with the diet.—Aram.

Sensibility.—We may triumph over all weaknesses but that of the affections.

Silence of Cities.—The stillness of a city is far more impressive than that of Nature; for the mind instantly compares the present silence with the wonted uproar.

Suspense.—Of all the conditions to which the heart is subject, suspense is the one that most gnaws, and cankers into the frame. One little month of that suspense, when it involves death, we are told, in a very remarkable work lately published by an eye-witness,7 is sufficient to plough fixed lines and furrows in a convict of five-and-twenty—sufficient to dash the brown hair with grey, and to bleach the grey to white.

Consolation.—Her high and starry nature could comprehend those sublime inspirations of comfort, which lift us from the lowest abyss of this world to the contemplation of all that the yearning visions of mankind have painted in another.

It is a fearful thing to see men weep.

We are seldom sadder without being also wiser men.

What is more appalling than to find the signs of gaiety accompanying the reality of anguish.

Consolation.—If we go at noon day to the bottom of a deep pit,8 we shall be able to see the stars which on the level ground are invisible. Even so, from the depths of grief—worn, wretched, seared, and dying—the blessed apparitions and tokens of heaven make themselves visible to our eyes.

Progress of Crime.—Mankind are not instantly corrupted. Villany is always progressive. We decline from right—not suddenly, but step after step.—Aram's Defence.

SKETCHES FROM THE TOUR OF A GERMAN PRINCE, VOL. III

Mrs. Fitzherbert

"A very worthy and amiable woman, formerly, they say, married to the King, but at present wholly without influence in that quarter, but no less beloved and respected, d'un excellent ton et sans pretension."

Her Majesty

"The Duchess of Clarence honoured the feast with her presence; and all pressed forward to see her, for she is one of those rare Princesses whose personal qualities obtain for them much more respect than their rank, and whose unceasing benevolence and highly amiable character, have obtained for her a popularity in England, of which we Germans may well be proud—the more so, since in all probability she is destined to be one day the Queen of that country."

The King

"I had the honour of dining with the Duke of Clarence, where I also met the Princess Augusta, the Duchess of Kent and her daughter, and the Duchess of Gloucester. The Duke makes a most friendly host, and is kind enough to retain a recollection of the different times and places where he has before seen me. He has much of the English national character, in the best sense of the word, and also the English love of domestic arrangement. The daughters of the Duke are d'un beau sang, all extraordinarily handsome, though in different styles of beauty. Among the sons Colonel Fitzclarence is, in many respects, the most distinguished. Rarely, indeed, do we meet with a young officer of such various accomplishments."

The Duchess of St. A–

"According to the earliest recollections or her Grace, she found herself a forsaken, starving, frozen child, in an outshed of an English village. She was taken thence by a gipsy-crew, whom she afterwards left for a company of strolling players. In this profession, she obtained some reputation by a pleasing exterior, a constant flow of spirits, and a certain originality—till by degrees she gained several friends, who magnanimously provided for her wants. She long lived in undisturbed connexion with the rich banker C–, who, at length, married her, and, at his death, left her a fortune of 70,000l. a year. By this colossal inheritance, she afterwards became the wife of the Duke of St. A–, the third English Duke in point of rank, and, what is a somewhat singular coincident, the descendant of the well-known actress Nell Gwynn, to whose charms the Duke is indebted for his title, in much the same way (though a hundred years earlier) as his wife is now for hers.

"She is a very good sort of woman, who has no hesitation in speaking of the past—on the contrary, is rather too frequent in her reminiscences. Thus she entertained us the whole evening, with various representations of her former dramatic characters. The drollest part of the affair was, that she had taught her husband, a very young man, thirty years under her own age—to play the lover's part, which he did badly enough. Malicious tongues were naturally very busy, and the more so, as many of the recited passages gave room for the most piquant applications."

Fortune-telling

"I dined to-day with Lady F. Her husband was formerly Governor in the Isle of France, and she had there purchased from a negress, the pretended prophesying book of the Empress Josephine, who is said to have read therein her future greatness and fall, before she sailed for France. Lady F. produced it at tea, and invited the company to question fate, according to the prescribed forms. Now, listen to the answers, which are really remarkable enough. Mrs. Rothschild was the first—and she asked if her wishes would be fulfilled. Answer: 'Weary not fate with wishes—one who has obtained so much, may well be satisfied.' Next came Mr. Spring Rice, a celebrated parliamentary speaker, and one of the most zealous champions of the Catholic Question. He asked, whether on the following day when the question was to be brought forward in the upper house, it would pass. I should here remark, that it is well known here that it will not pass—but that in all probability in the next session it will. The laconic answer of the book ran thus:—'You will have no success this time.' They then made a young American lady ask if she should soon be married. 'Not in this part of the world,' was the answer."

The Gatherer

Shakspeare and Garrick.—At the opening dinner of the Garrick Club, the company forgot to drink the Memory of SHAKSPEARE; and the health of our living dramatists was only proposed when the party had dwindled from 200 to 20! Where would be the fame of Garrick but for Shakspeare.

Talent has lately been liberally marked by royal favour. Among the last batch of knights are Mr. Smirke, the architect; Dr. Meyrick, the celebrated antiquarian scholar; and Col. Trench.

"Passing Strange."—The Court Journal, speaking of the deputation of boys from Christ's Hospital at the Drawing-room, says, "The number of boys appointed to attend on this occasion is 40; but, owing to the indisposition of one of them, there were no more than 39 present."

Millinery Authorship.—"We must acknowledge our prejudice in favour of an opportunity for the display of that most courtly of all materials, the train of Genoa velvet; where (as Lord Francis Levison expresses it)

Finger-deep the rich embroidery stiffens.Court Journal.

In a puff precipitate of a play, we are told that M– "is pleased with his character."

Two cats were placed within a cage,And resolving to quarrel, got into a rage,They fought so clean, and fought so clever,The devil a bit was left of either.

1

How pleasingly is the substance of these observations embodied in one of our "Snatches from Eugene Aram:"—"It has been observed, and there is a world of homely, ay, of legislative wisdom in the observation, that wherever you see a flower in a cottage garden, or a bird at the window, you may feel sure that the cottagers are better and wiser than their neighbours." Vol. i. p. 4. Yet with what wretched taste is this morality sought to be perverted in an abusive notice of Mr. Bulwer's Eugene Aram, in a Magazine of the past month, by a reference to Clark and Aram's stealing flower-roots from gentlemen's gardens to add to the ornaments of their own. The writer might as well have said that Clark and Aram were fair specimens of the whole human race, or that every gay flower in a cottage garden has been so stolen.

2

Gardeners' Magazine, No. XXXIII. August, 1831.

3

Family Library, No. XXVII.

4

By M.M. Concanen, jun. and A. Morgan.

5

"On doors the sallow milk maid chalks her gains.Oh! how unlike the milk-maid of the plains!"

6

They say that no town in Europe is without a Scotchman for an inhabitant. This trade in London is generally professed by North Britons, and it is always a cause of alarm to a stranger if he notices the enormous column of black smoke which is emitted from their premises at the dawn, of the morning.

7

Wakefield on "The Punishment of Death."

8

The remark is in Aristotle. Buffon quotes it in, I think, the first volume of his great work.